


costumes optional

by QLaLa



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 11:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QLaLa/pseuds/QLaLa
Summary: Call it a hunch, call it intuition; Len was pretty sure his plans for the night had just gotten a lot more interesting.





	costumes optional

It shouldn’t have been so hard to find one badge in a city the size of Central, but Len was prepared to blame that bad luck on extenuating circumstances. It was the CCPD’s busiest night of the year, and his contacts would think he’d gone insane if he told them he was trying to track down a specific CSI in the middle of all the madness.

Normally, of course, it wouldn’t have even reached this point. A quick glance at social media usually told him when Barry was busy with his _other_ job, and helped him predict where he was headed next. But even Twitter became a lot less reliable when half of the city was dressed up as the Scarlet Speedster.

It was intuition that led him to check the diner across from the precinct. At least, intuition was what he was calling it these days; Mick used the word “hunches,” while Gideon preferred “most likely a side-effect of your recent exposure to the time stream.”

Whatever the name for it, he had to give it credit where credit was due: he’d no sooner pushed open the old glass door of the diner than he saw a familiar head of dark hair at the front counter.

Barry was bent over a case file, and didn’t even look up when the bell above the door gave a half-hearted little chime. The gust of cold air from outside stirred the loose pages in his folder, but he only shifted the coffee mug in front of him over to serve as a paperweight.

Len waited another moment to see if he would turn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sure it was Barry; there was no mistaking the tense set to his shoulders, the narrow slip of his waist, or the jittery way he was bouncing one knee under the counter. The well-loved sneakers, soles worn smooth, were also a dead giveaway.

No, he was certain that he’d found what he’d come here for. But still, he paused, wondering if Barry would somehow sense his presence the way Len so often sensed his. When it became clear he was so immersed in the file that he wouldn’t notice if the ghost of Elvis himself had just walked into the diner, Len gave it up, and crossed over to take the stool next to him.

He’d braced himself for changes, of course. He hadn’t been back to Central in over a year, and knew the city had moved forward without him. He didn’t know quite what he’d expected from Barry: a touch of gray in that messy sweep of brown hair, maybe, or a couple stress lines where he was always furrowing his brow. What he hadn’t been prepared for was for Barry to look so _familiar_.

It was a strange thought, and Len was aware that it didn’t exactly make sense. But despite that, it was an accurate one. His profile was as sharp as Len had remembered, and the freckles over the tops of his cheeks hadn’t faded despite the weak sun of the fall. His earlier thought returned, and he was just wondering if it were even possible for Barry to get gray hairs when Barry finally noticed his audience.

Len could pinpoint the exact moment his concentration broke. Barry blinked, and straightened slightly on the stool. He continued looking down at the papers for a moment longer, but it was without focus now, and he was clearly waiting for him to turn away. But Len didn’t, too amused now at Barry’s obvious discomfort.

Then Barry cleared his throat, and closed the file pointedly. The waitress behind the counter noticed Len, and gave him a rather venomous look. Len knew he was in breach of decorum; the diner was a cop haunt, and one of the only places in the city a badge could spread out their paperwork without worrying about civilians looking over their shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Barry said, impatience finally winning out over his better etiquette, “do you mind? There are plenty of other open—“

He looked up, an annoyed flash of pale eyes under the pretty fringe of his lashes, and stopped mid-sentence.

Then he started to say his last name, stunned and breathless, but Len cut him off with a sharply raised eyebrow. _Snart_ wasn’t really a name they wanted to be throwing around in the present company.

“Leonard,” Barry said instead.

Len had to work to keep his lips from twitching at how obviously foreign his first name felt on Barry’s tongue, then worked a little harder to remind himself not to get too preoccupied with Barry’s mouth. That particular train of thought was never an easy one to stop.

“Didn’t expect to find you of all people out of costume tonight, Barry,” Len said. He kept his tone conversational; one of them had to. “Surely Chief Singh knows you’ve got more pressing issues than”—he caught the corner one of the pages sticking out from the file under Barry’s hand, slipped it free, and glanced at it—"petty larceny.”

Barry snatched the paper back, and his gaze was guarded when he looked back at him and asked: “What are you doing here?”

There was pain, old pain underneath that closed-off expression, and Len couldn’t place it at first. As far as he could remember, he and Barry had parted on cordial, if not quite friendly terms. Assuming Gideon hadn’t dropped him off in an alternate timeline, he wasn’t sure why Barry would be acting so strangely. Unless…

Len cocked his head, considering.

Barry held his gaze for another moment, then that pain flickered across his expression again, and he looked away.

No, there was no reason for Barry to be acting like this. Not unless he still thought he was dead.

Len found himself fighting a smirk. Call it a hunch, call it intuition; he was pretty sure his plans for the night had just gotten a lot more interesting.

He leaned an elbow on the bar, and signaled to the waitress for a cup of coffee. She brought him one, rather grudgingly, then refilled Barry’s mug without needing to ask.

Len took a sip of it, considering, and waited until she’d moved to take a table’s order before glancing sideways at Barry again.

“So, Barry,” he said. “Don’t suppose you could tell an old time-traveler the date?”

Barry was quicker to mask the flinch that time, but his eyes were tight as he curled his fingers around his drink, and Len almost felt bad for the ploy. Almost.

“2017,” Barry said. Then, with a knowing tilt of his head, he added: “October thirty-first. But you already knew that.”

Len hummed in agreement. “The swarms of unattended children and racially insensitive costumes did give it away.”

Barry tried to hide his grin behind his coffee, and mostly failed.

The crooked smile knocked loose something bright and jagged in Len’s chest, and he had to cast his gaze aside to regain control over the unexpected emotion. He put down his mug just to occupy his hands, then reminded himself why he’d asked in the first place.

“2017,” he repeated, and he paused for a moment to give the appearance of mulling it over. “Guess I’ve got a family reunion waiting for me. Thanks for the coffee.”

He stood to go, and Barry caught his arm.

“You haven’t talked to Lisa yet?” he asked.

Len could see the panic in his eyes, and the wheels spinning behind them. He tilted a glare at the hand on his arm, giving Barry time to think. He had, of course, already seen Lisa. Her apartment had been his first stop when he got back to Central a few days earlier, and she’d thrown a vase at his head in lieu of hugging him. It had still had flowers in it; Len had made a mental note to find out who was sending bouquets to his baby sister.

Barry didn’t bother letting go of his arm, still hovering halfway off his stool with an expression of deep indecision.

“Was thinking of heading to Saints,” Len said. “Catch up with whatever’s left of the old crew.” He finally shook Barry’s hand loose and reached for his wallet. He put down a five, then cut Barry a sideways glance. “Unless you’ve got a better offer in mind.”

Barry rolled his eyes. But the corner of his mouth twitched up again, and when he looked back at him, he looked… relieved. Relieved to see him. Another strange thought.

Len didn’t have time to parse it before Barry was gathering his paperwork.

“Wally’s got first patrol,” he said. “But it’s a busy night. I’m sure there are some teenagers that could use scaring straight.”

“Straight’s not really my specialty,” Len said.

Barry blinked, fought a grin, then threw Len an unamused look that was utterly betrayed by the laughter brightening his eyes.

“Come on,” Barry said. “It’ll be fun.”

It was a ridiculous idea, and Len was certain Barry hadn’t meant it when he said it. But he looked like he was warming to the idea. His smirk was playful now, and there was a friendly tilt to his head. The earlier shadow of guilt was gone.

Len sighed, and Barry’s grin turned triumphant. He followed Len in dropping enough cash to cover his tab on the counter, then gathered his paperwork and indicated Len to follow him out the side door.

They’d barely stepped into the alley when Barry swept the ground from under his feet. A second of blinding disorientation followed, and then his boots hit concrete.

“Wait here,” Barry said. He was startlingly close. Then he disappeared.

Len had a moment to survey the street corner Barry had just left him on. It was one of the more residential pockets of Central, not somewhere Len usually spent a lot of time. Children were dashing along the sidewalks in colorful costumes, leaving harried parents and high peals of laughter in their wake. Young teenagers wore more elaborate costumes and drifted casually past in small groups, making self-conscious adjustments to their clothes as they walked.

Barry returned on a wave of displaced air and static, and Len raised an eyebrow when he saw he’d changed into the Flash suit. Before he could comment, though, Barry held a bundle out to him with a mischievous grin.

“Traded a drunk undergrad a selfie for this,” he said. “Tonight might be the only time you’re going to look more out of place without it.”

Len took it. He knew what it was before he shook it out, but still sighed when he saw the parka. “Don’t tell me this is a popular costume this year."

“Oh, absolutely,” Barry said. “It made the DIY lists in all of the major papers. Pair it with a hairdryer and some swim goggles, and you’re good to go.”

Barry watched him put it on, radiating childish impatience. The sleeves were a little short, and the material a lighter shade of blue than his real one, but he had to admit it was a passable replacement. When he met Barry’s gaze, one eyebrow raised in a _happy now?_ gesture, he was surprised by the pain he found in Barry’s eyes. His smile, when it came, was tight and unconvincing.

Right; the kid thought he was dead. Len was beginning to regret stringing him along, but reminded himself that the game was working so far. He doubted Barry would’ve been quite as eager to shirk his responsibilities to play neighborhood watch if he hadn’t thought this might be the last time he saw him.

He made a show of glancing at Barry’s hands, then tilted his head. “No cold gun?” he asked. “Gonna be hard to menace high schoolers without one.”

Barry scoffed, and Len tried not to be relieved when the tension melted out of his shoulders.

“Yeah, you try selling that to Cisco as the reason I stole one of his prototypes,” Barry said. Then his eyes slid over Len’s shoulder, and he frowned. “Looks like we’re up. Come on.”

He set off at a purposeful pace, and Len sighed when he followed the direction of his gaze. A couple teenagers were looming over a pair of kids, the younger of whom looked on the edge of tears.

As he and Barry approached, one of the teenagers held out a hand towards the children. Len didn’t hear his words, but the intent was clear; the young boy, dressed in a crooked vampire cape, pulled the plastic pumpkin he was carrying closer to his chest and shook his head. The little girl beside him clung to his hand and looked between the teenagers with hurt confusion.

“Alright,” Barry said, all Flash swagger and stern voice. “That’s enough. Leave them alone.”

One of the teenagers glanced over at them. He had a hefty pillowcase filled nearly to the top with a jumble of candy, metallic wrappers twinkling as he shifted it under his arm. Len guessed they’d been at this racket for a while.

“Aren’t you a little old to be trick-or-treating?” the teenager asked. He looked over their outfits with disdain, obviously taking them for costumes. But Len could tell that the children had put together what this punk hadn’t; the boy was staring at Barry in unabashed awe, and the little girl was peeking shyly at him from behind her brother’s cape.

Barry raised an eyebrow, and Len wondered how anyone could miss the dangerous light behind those eyes.

“You’re right,” Barry said. And then he moved, a blitz of electricity, and reappeared behind the teenagers. He’d liberated a candy bar from their haul, and took a bite of it as they spun to face him. “But you don’t mind sharing, right?”

A beat passed, and then the teenagers were tripping over themselves in their haste to get away. One of them dropped the pillowcase of looted candy, and Len picked it up as the younger boy launched himself forward to hug Barry’s knees.

The pair almost toppled, and Len was pretty sure it was only the counterweight of the little girl attaching herself to Barry’s other leg that kept them all from going over.

Over babbles of “Thank you, Mister Flash,” Len made a show of poking through the bag. The girl noticed him first, and leaned over to whisper in her brother’s ear. He looked over at Len with wide eyes, then tugged on Barry’s sleeve.

“Cap’n Cold is gonna give us the candy, right, Mister Flash?” he asked, but his gaze remained on Len.

Len raised an eyebrow at the child. “I look like Robin Hood to you, kid?”

He laid the drawl on thick, and they looked, if anything, more delighted than before. But the little girl schooled her expression into a pout that reminded Len almost painfully of a younger Lisa.

Barry shot him a dry look over the kids’ heads. “Len,” Barry said. “Come on.”

Len glanced up at the nickname, but Barry didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d said it.

Len heaved an exaggerated sigh that made the little not-Lisa giggle, and he knelt carefully in front of her. She held his gaze solemnly, and he held out the bag to her. She reached out a small, determined hand to take it, but he hefted it just out of reach.

“If I let you have this,” he said, “you promise you aren’t gonna share it with your brother?”

“Len,” Barry said again, chastising now, and Len ignored him.

After a moment’s thought, the little girl gave him a wide smile. She cast a devious glance over her shoulder at where her brother was still holding onto Barry’s sleeve, then looked back to Len. She nodded once, decisively, and Len lowered the bag into her waiting hands.

The child let out a shrill, triumphant cry, and took off down the street at a dead sprint. Her brother stared after her in surprise. Then his eyes widened with the betrayal, and he shouted her name, and he bolted after her without a backwards glance in Barry’s direction.

Barry watched them go with fond exasperation, and Len smirked.

“So much for gratitude,” he said.

Barry sighed, but it was without malice. “At least they said thank you,” he said. “It’s more than I usually get.”

“Still got room on my crew for a speedster, if you're so dissatisfied,” Len said. He caught his mistake as soon as he said it, sentimentality getting the better of him for a moment, but Barry only tilted him a sad smile.

“Don’t let Sara hear you calling the Legends _your_ crew,” he said.

Len considered correcting him, but before he could make a decision, Barry’s expression shifted. He lifted his hand to one ear, and said, “Yeah, Joe. I’m here.” A few moments passed while he listened, and then he nodded. “We’ll take care of it.”

He started to turn back toward Len, then blanched. “Uh, no one,” he said, evidently still to West. “I— I’ll explain later.”

“Let me guess,” Len said. “Cat up a tree?”

“No,” Barry said. “Some kids toilet papered the old oak in front of City Hall. But it shouldn’t take us too long to get it cleaned up.”

Len stared at him in disbelief.

Barry held his gaze for a moment, all innocent green eyes. Then he cracked a grin. “I’m messing with you,” he said. “There’s a robbery on Twenty-Eighth and Park.”

Barry caught him with a hand around his arm, and they were moving before Len could object. When they stopped a couple seconds later, suddenly downtown, Len had to bite back a comment about Barry never giving him a warning before doing that. Best to keep him uncertain about where in the timeline he was from.

The heist was ridiculously easy to foil; calling it a heist at all was being overly generous. It was a smash and grab at a department store, a couple men in masks filling their bags with jewelry from a window display. Barry rocked a step back, clearly about to run in and grab them, and Len put up a hand to stop him. He pointed wordlessly at the white van idling across the street, likely sheltering the men's lookout.

“Take the store, around back,” Len said. “Door’ll be locked, but shouldn’t give you any trouble.” He met Barry’s gaze, and couldn’t keep the corner of his lips from twitching up in something a little too warm to be a smirk. “Lock’s a standard Draycon.”

Barry grinned, surprised but obviously pleased at what Len realized, now that he’d said, had been an inside joke.

He ignored the catch in his chest, and looked back to the van. “The man in the clown mask is carrying. Left ankle. Take him out first. I’ve got the driver.”

He started to step forward, but Barry caught his arm. “No killing."

Len gave him a lazy scout salute he’d picked up from Raymond, and Barry’s lips twitched against another smile before he darted away.

The driver ended up being barely older than the teenagers he and Barry had just chased off the trick-or-treaters. Len knocked on the window, and pointed to where Barry was making quick work of the other two members of his team. The kid didn’t need any further convincing; he skittered out the passenger side door, left it open behind him, and fled down the street on foot.

Len let him go. He circled around to the open door, leaned in to take the keys from the ignition, and tossed them to Barry when he rejoined him a minute later.

“A patrol car is on the way for those two,” Barry said, catching the keys easily. He glanced into the van, then asked, “What happened to the driver?”

Len shrugged. “No sign of him,” Len said. “Must’ve had a crisis of conscience.”

Barry gave him a dry look, but didn’t press the issue.

They moved uptown from there, Barry getting a request over his coms to take care of some drunk twenty-somethings throwing eggs at cars from the Main Street overpass.

The revelers were still at it when they arrived, lobbing eggs over the chain link fence that was meant to close off the pedestrian walkway. Barry caught one of the projectiles in mid-air—with a little more flair than was really necessary, Len thought—and came to a stop directly in front of the woman who’d thrown it.

“I think you dropped this,” Barry said.

The group scattered with less dignity than even the teenagers from earlier had managed.

Len stepped carefully into the path of one fleeing man and took his wallet when they collided. On a whim, he liberated the carton of eggs from him as well. When Barry turned to watch them run, his grin gone cocky, Len tapped an egg against the rusted edge of the guardrail beside them. He raised it over Barry’s head, waited patiently for a count of five, and then, just as Barry turned back around, brought it down soundly on the crown of his head.

Barry spluttered and zipped away a couple feet in apparent reflex. When he stopped, he made a ridiculous face, and swiped the dripping yolk off his cowl in disgust. With another flicker of lightning, he was back in Len’s space, and Len didn’t get a chance to dodge him before Barry wiped his glove on the front of his parka.

Len had another egg ready in his left hand, but Barry saw the movement before he even had the chance to heft his arm. A spark of yellow lightning, startling this close, and both the egg and Barry disappeared. Len didn’t have time to turn before he felt the hollow crunch against his back and heard Barry crow a laugh. Clearly, the kid had enough of a self-preservation instinct not to try putting it over his head, but Len guessed by the placement that he now had a hood full of raw egg.

He turned slowly, reaching for the last egg, but Barry danced back a step to stay out of range.

“Give it up, Cold,” he said. He pushed back his cowl and threw Len a smirk, sharp and challenging. “There’s no way you win this.”

His hair was wild, and his pale eyes bright with laughter. The egg shell on Len’s glove was the only thing keeping him from pulling Barry in and tasting that smile.

That thought caught, and he started shucking off his gloves.

“I don’t believe in no-win scenarios,” he said.

Barry tilted him a grin. “Quoting Star Trek now?”

Len hummed, and started to undo the catch on his other wrist. “Used to be something of a fan,” he admitted. “Not so much these days.” He kept his eyes on the glove, intent on picking the bits of shell free before trying to take it off. “Seems lately _Search for Spock_ hits a little too close to home.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Barry go still.

“Resurrection,” Len explained. He got the other glove off at last, and gave them a little flick of distaste to rid them of the remaining egg. “So much cleaner in the movies.”

He glanced up to find Barry staring at him, eyes wide and shell-shocked.

“You…” He struggled for words, then blinked. “How long are you here for?”

It hadn't been the question Len had been anticipating. He propped a hip against the handrail, minding the egg, and shrugged. “Call it a sabbatical,” he said. “Team will manage without me for a while.”

Barry took what looked like an involuntary step forward, and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re staying?”

Len took his time tucking his gloves into the pocket of his jacket. “If this is what your Halloween looks like,” he said, “guess I’ll have to. Couldn’t let the Flash lose his edge because of my—”

The chain link fence squeaked in protest as Barry pushed Len up against it, and the rest of his sentence was lost against Barry’s mouth.

Len’s heart missed a frankly alarming number of beats, and the sense of sheer _relief_ that crashed into him a moment later nearly knocked him off his feet. He got a hand in Barry’s hair and dragged him closer, but only had a moment to appreciate the soft give of Barry’s lips before Barry broke away to glare at him.

“You asshole.” The helpless smile pulling up on Barry’s lips robbed the words of any heat, though, and the damp shine to his eyes finished the job. “I thought…”

Len raised an eyebrow. “You know what they say about assumptions,” he said.

Barry huffed a laugh, then slid a hand up Len’s neck and kissed him again.

The first kiss had been a rushed, graceless thing, but Barry seemed intent on enjoying this one. He leaned gratefully into the hand Len had tangled in his hair, and traced his tongue over the seam of his lips in silent question. Len felt a spark of interest low in his stomach and parted his lips for him.

Barry swayed closer with a soft, pleased sound that made Len forget how to breathe. The first brush of Barry’s tongue against his fanned the spark into a proper fire, hot and intent, and Len had to swallow a groan when long, clever fingers curled around the buckle of his belt.

Barry didn’t seem to care in the least about the cars drifting past under them, some of which were beginning to honk as their headlights caught their tangled silhouettes.

Len pulled away with effort, only to cave again when Barry chased his lips forward. He let Barry catch his bottom lip, and slipped his hand up to cover Barry’s jaw and tilt him closer. It took another honk and a loud catcall from below to remind Len that they should probably move this somewhere a little more private, and he broke the kiss again.

“Putting on a bit of a show here, Barry,” he said.

Barry pressed his face against his neck and breathed him in, so brazenly possessive that it sent a shiver up Len’s spine.

“There are a couple hundred Flashes in Central City right now,” Barry said, lips brushing his skin. He kissed Len’s neck, then his jaw, then pressed their mouths together again. “I could be any one of them.”

Len conceded the point with a hum, and tipped Barry’s chin up to ghost his lips over the pink blush of stubble burn on the edge of his jaw.

“Sounds to me the city could spare one Scarlet Speedster for a couple hours,” he said.

Barry raised an eyebrow in challenge. “A couple hours?”

Len made a noncommittal sound. “Maybe several.”

Barry laughed, and ducked his head to hide the pleased blush rising in his cheeks.

The warmth of the sound tugged at that shard of hope in Len’s chest again, and there was no fighting it this time. When Barry looked up again, Len saw a flicker of surprise cross his features as he registered the resigned fondness in his gaze.

“And if I want something more than that?” Barry asked.

Len hadn’t expected anything so forward, and for the first time all night, he hesitated. “Something more,” he repeated.

Barry held his gaze steadily, and nodded once.

Len would’ve liked to say he weighed his options. But Barry’s certainty was contagious, and Len couldn’t deny that something stronger than mere attraction had led him to find Barry in that diner tonight. In any case, he’d already died once; what else did he really have to lose?

“Something more,” he said slowly, “might be on the table.”

Barry’s answering smile was breathtaking. And if the catcalls below started up again when Len dragged him in for another kiss, then he was far, far too busy to even notice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and happy Halloween! 
> 
> Comments are always, always appreciated.


End file.
